One and Another
by liketolaugh
Summary: Dean stumbles across a strange child playing poker in a place where he does not belong. Shortly thereafter, the two of them walking together run across something even Dean's never seen before. Things only escalate from there. Stanford Era!Dean and Pre-series!Allen.
1. Straight Flush

**A/N: Here's a new story. How many of you are annoyed? Yeah, I thought so. All the same, hope you like it!**

**Title: One and Another**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Drama/Mystery**

**Warnings: None**

**Summary: Dean stumbles across a strange child playing poker in a place where he does not belong. Shortly thereafter, the two of them walking together run across something even Dean's never seen before. Things only escalate from there. Stanford Era!Dean and Pre-series!Allen.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Supernatural is not mine. Neither is D. Gray-man.**

* * *

Dean, head held high and one hand in his pocket, cut through the bar easily, heading straight for the back, where he could spot a poker game already in progress. His territory, through and through.

He drew to a halt beside the table and watched for a moment, assessing them. It seemed like they'd only just started, and if he had to guess, it wasn't an honest game.

It also seemed to be the three men conspiring against a little white-haired kid that _definitely _wouldn't be in here if there was any kind of decent law enforcement in this town. He frowned, but shook his head; not his problem, he reminded himself. Not his problem. Never mind his soft spot for kids, it was _not his problem._

Dammit.

He caught the attention of one of the men, a gruff-looking man with a full beard and short brown hair, and flashed him a grin. "Mind if I cut in on this little tea party?" he asked lightly.

The white-haired kid (and what was up with that, anyway?) looked up at him with wide gray eyes. Dean noted that a jagged scar ran down the left side of his face, cutting right through his eye, and that it was topped by something he couldn't quite make out, hidden as it was by the kid's hair.

The man he'd addressed, though, chuckled. "Think you can take it, kid?" he taunted the child across from him.

The boy tucked his head in a little, looking nervous and uncomfortable, like he didn't really want to be here, but nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, sounding even younger than he looked.

Dean sat down, smirking just a little arrogantly. The man he'd spoken to dealt him in as Dean glanced at the kid again and reached out, ruffling the snow-white strands playfully.

"Dude. White hair." The boy glanced up at him in time to catch the grin he shot him, and offered a slightly uncertain smile in return. "What's up with that?" Dean continued, nonchalant.

The boy cast him a slightly fearful glance, tucked his head in a little farther, and shrugged. "I don't know, mister," he whispered, almost too quietly for Dean to catch.

"Dude!" Dean objected instantly. "Don't call me mister." He offered the kid his hand, trying to get him to stop looking so damn _scared. _"Name's Dean."

The boy took it hesitantly, shaking it once before letting go. "Allen," he returned, voice soft.

Dean picked up his cards and gave him a glance, listening with half an ear as the dealer began. "So what's an underage kid like you doing here?" he asked conversationally. Without his permission, his goal here had turned from 'make enough money to last another week' to kid duty.

Damn.

The dealer, though, snorted, catching the words. "He's paying off his master's debts, ain't that right, boy?" He leered at Allen, a malicious smirk on his face.

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked down at Allen. "That true, kid?"

Allen nodded, not looking at him as he focused on his own cards. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"Dude. Dean," Dean reminded him.

"Dean," Allen amended, offering him another uncertain smile.

Dean grinned back, feeling a little sorry that he'd be cleaning this kid out, not just the three men at the table.

* * *

More rounds than Dean cared to count later, he stared openmouthed as Allen gave a small smile and laid his cards on the table.

"Straight flush," Allen announced quietly, still smiling.

Dean groaned and leaned back, slapping down his own four-of-a-kind on the table. "Damn, kid. I don't know how you do it." Which was a lie, because he totally did, except _how was the kid better than all of them put together?_

Allen cast him another little smile, seeming much more at ease than he had at the beginning. Dean figured it was a combination of his own coaxing and the kid's consistent success.

"I'm out," Dean continued. He cast Allen a halfhearted glower. "Cleaning me out here, Al."

Allen blushed lightly, and went back to looking at his cards studiously, having already been dealt into the next round.

"Well, don't feel like you gotta stick around to the end," griped the brown-haired man to the dealer's left. "That damn apprentice might be good, but he's got a long way to go before he pays off that damn Cross' debt."

At the mention of the apparent size of the debt, Allen's confidence seemed to all but vanish as he shrunk in on himself again.

Dean shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Hey, I've got nothing better to do," he claimed. Which was a lie – he had a freaking hunt to finish and money to make somewhere else, somewhere without a cheating kid to clean him out – but he wasn't going to say that.

The man shrugged at him. "If you're sure."

Dean nodded, leaned back, and proceeded to watch for the next who-the-hell-knows-how-long as Allen proceeded to all but strip the men down to their underwear, never once losing a round. Fortunately, they seemed to have the sense to stop before it got to that point; the slightly mischievous quality to Allen's smile told Dean that not everyone had that sense.

The blond haired man to the first dealer's right slammed down his cards with a disbelieving huff. "Forget it," he snorted. "Debt's paid, kid, and then some. Go run off to your master."

Allen gave him a little smile, eyes dancing with mischief and a hint of darkness, before scooping up his winnings – smaller than Dean would've thought, with the sheer number of rounds – and stuffing them in his pocket with the strange red hand Dean had noted earlier, which had a small black wrap covering the palm and the back.

"Goodbye, Mister Dean," he said to Dean, waving a little as he hurried out the door, not even looking back at the men at the table.

Mister Dean? Dean frowned, then shrugged, chuckling a little. Eh, close enough.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Allen, smirking slightly. "Not just yet, kid." He stood and stretched a little, before going after the puzzled kid. "Can't let you go by yourself now, can I? Shady characters about." He made a show of glancing back and forth suspiciously, wringing a soft giggle from the boy.

"OK," Allen agreed eventually, not looking too concerned either way.

* * *

**Normally I wouldn't dare to start a new story at this point, but this one's going to be fairly short, so I figured hey, what the heck. Please review and let me know what you think of it!**


	2. Boom and Flash

**A/N: Mm. I forgot I had this up already. Well. Chapter. *yawn***

**Title: One and Another**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Drama/Mystery**

**Warnings: None**

**Summary: Dean stumbles across a strange child playing poker in a place where he does not belong. Shortly thereafter, the two of them walking together run across something even Dean's never seen before. Things only escalate from there. Stanford Era!Dean and Pre-series!Allen.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Supernatural is not mine. Neither is D. Gray-man.**

* * *

"So, where're you going, kid?" Dean asked, making an effort to slow down for Allen's short legs. Well. Short everything, really.

Allen looked up at him, silver eyes a bit wide still. "That motel down there." He pointed in the direction they were heading. Then he wrinkled his nose. "Master might be busy, though."

"Busy doing what?" Dean asked.

Allen made a face and didn't answer. After a moment, Dean got it and snickered. "Ah. Gotcha."

Allen offered him a little wry smile and looked back to the front. His eyes caught on a man leaning against a building and he froze. Dean frowned, shifting into a more tense stance, looking around.

"Kid?" he asked cautiously. "See something?"

Allen, slowly, looked up at him, and Dean stiffened when he saw Allen's left eye, pitch black and swirled with red, his right one filled with a strange mixture of fear and determination.

"You should run," Allen whispered, voice almost hoarse.

"No can do, kid," Dean replied grimly, not taking his eyes off Allen as he reached for a knife. _Always the kids…_

At that moment, the man Allen had spotted came toward them, and then, abruptly, his skin split, revealing a giant, gray-black creature, unnatural and gruesome.

"Shit," Dean swore, instinctively diving for the kid as the thing turned toward them and geared up to fire. An instant later, a huge bullet landed where he had been moments before.

"Allen," Dean hissed, eyes now on the bigger problem, and pushing away the boy's strange eye for now, "Get out of here. _Now."_

Allen shook his head, eyes wide, the left one still blacker than night and red as blood. At some point, the wrap had fallen away from his red hand, and his right one reached for that now. "Mister Dean, you should really, really go," he pleaded, rolling out from behind Dean, who cursed and dove for him again.

Allen, though, evaded him, pressing against the building, and, before Dean could react, he pushed his hand out in front of him like a barrier, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean barely had time to note the glowing green cross engraved on the back before Allen whispered. "Innocence." His voice rose from a whisper into something that was almost a desperate scream. "_Activate!"_

A green glow erupted from the little cross to spread across his left arm, and before Dean's eyes, it grew into a huge, armored thing, jointless and strange.

The thing, whatever it was – Dean had never seen anything like it, though he wondered vaguely, with the echo of a slight pang, if Sam would know – turned toward Allen now, and fired a rain of bullets down. Dean swore and darted toward it, knife held expertly in his hand, and made to swing at it.

The dagger bounced off, sending painful vibrations through Dean's arm, making him curse again and back off.

It didn't even glance at him, but Dean looked up through narrowed eyes, seeing Allen ducking behind his huge, bone-white arm, which deflected the bullets. Then, as the rain came to a halt, Allen murmured, with a tone that caused the words to slice through the alley like a knife,

"Bring salvation… to this tormented akuma's soul."

"Dramatic," Dean mumbled to himself.

But as Allen spoke the last word, he jumped into the air, eyes blazing with fierce determination, and, with one blow from the huge white hand, sliced the apparent akuma (wasn't that a Japanese demon?) in two, landing neatly in a crouch on the akuma's other side, twisting a moment later to look, eyes wide once again, at something slightly above the akuma – something Dean couldn't see.

Behind him, the akuma exploded into dust. Vaguely, Dean wished his enemies did that. It would save him the trouble of salting and burning them.

Allen stood, slowly, and approached Dean with soft footsteps, his eye back to a normal, human silver, with a glint of worry. "Mister Dean?" he questioned, coming to a halt a few feet in front of Dean, left hand back to normal – uh, normal for him – but half-hidden behind his back. "Are you okay?"

Dean stared at him for a moment, before letting out a snort. "Yeah, kid," he said after a moment, sheathing his knife again and leaning against the building. "I'm fine. Mind explaining yourself?" While his posture was casual, his gaze was sharp with intent and a hint of warning.

Allen almost instantly looked down, shuffling a little. "Um…"

"Hey! Idiot apprentice!"

Allen's eyes widened and he straightened up with a squeak. "Master Cross!"

Dean looked over his shoulder to see a man with long red hair swaggering toward them, a mask covering the left half of his face.

"It's not Innocence after all, just some stupid ghost." Cross snorted. "Waste of time." His eyes landed on Dean and narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean straightened up subconsciously, meeting Cross with a steady gaze. "Dean Winchester." Then, on a hunch, he added, "Hunter."

Cross studied him for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, those. I see." He scoffed lightly. "You're here for the ghost."

"That's right."

Allen reached up and tugged on Cross' sleeve, making the man look down at him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" he complained, scowling at the man.

Cross gave him a long, considering look, much more thoughtful than the situation called for. Then he smirked. For some reason, this made Allen suddenly look very frightened.

"Kid, go with Winchester."

"Eh?" the kid yelped.

"Stupid pupil, how do you expect to be an exorcist if you don't know about the rest of the supernatural?" Cross glared down at the boy. "Go with him and hunt the ghost, understand?"

Allen deflated, looking slightly petulant as he mumbled, "Yes, sir."

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Dean protested, putting his hands up. "I never agreed to this."

Allen looked up at him and gave him a smile that did _not _make Dean feel any better about this. "It's alright, Mister Dean. I learn fast."

Dean looked down at him for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. How had looking after a stray kid turned into _this? _Really. His life."Fine. If you explain this exorcist crap to me, I'll teach you how to gank a ghost."

Allen brightened and nodded. "Okay!"

That didn't make Dean feel any better about this, either.

* * *

**So. Right. Whee. Am I going fast? I feel like I'm going fast, but am I? Well, whatever. Please review!**


	3. Ice and Fire

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I forgot. Again. But. Go ahead and read!**

**Title: One and Another**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Drama/Mystery**

**Warnings: None**

**Summary: Dean stumbles across a strange child playing poker in a place where he does not belong. Shortly thereafter, the two of them walking together run across something even Dean's never seen before. Things only escalate from there. Stanford Era!Dean and Pre-series!Allen.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Supernatural is not mine. Neither is D. Gray-man.**

* * *

"And if you shoot a ghost with salt, it disappears," Dean continued, checking the gun he'd gotten from the Impala. Then, just to check, he glanced back to Allen.

Allen was still looking at him. Intently. Absorbing every word he said.

It was creepy.

"Most of this hunt's already wrapped up," Dean told the kid, setting the sawed-off shotgun aside, "so all we need to do is go salt and burn the body. The gun is in case the ghost attacks while we're doing that."

Allen nodded. Seriously. What was this, some kind of information-stockpiling mode?

"C'mon," Dean finished, hiding the gun under his jacket and straightening up, businesslike. "Let's go." Then he paused, frowning. "Can you shoot?"

Allen nodded. "Master taught me – he said it was something I needed to know." He trailed off into grumbling, something about being taught everything he needed to know except the really important things.

Dean elected to ignore it and instead tossed the boy another gun, a smaller one, also loaded with salt. "Use this, kid. Hide it… somewhere."

Allen nodded, serious again, and the gun disappeared. It slightly unnerved Dean that he couldn't figure out where it had gone.

"This ghost is probably a girl called Felicia Hampton," Dean continued. He stopped by the door of his Impala and smirked at Allen. "This is my baby, by the way; she's our way to the graveyard where Felicia is buried."

"What kind of car is she?" Allen asked, clearly curious.

"'67 Chevy Impala," Dean told him proudly. "Cherry, too; nothing's too good for her." This, Dean judged, was an appropriate time for Allen to be taking mental notes. Which he still was. Briefly, he debated the merits of lecturing about his baby, or about the ghost, and finally sighed and continued, "Get in the back, kid, you're too young to be in front."

Allen nodded and climbed into the back, peeking forward to keep watching Dean as the man started the car and went back to the previous topic.

"Felicia Hampton was a girl in her early teens, murdered in the basement of her house. Place has been abandoned ever since, which is good for us." He turned. "If we're lucky, I'm right and it's Felicia. If I'm not…" He shrugged. "Then we've got some work ahead of us. Let's hope your master's willing to stick around, kid."

Allen's sudden blanching indicated that the man might not.

Dean pulled up on the side of the road and climbed out of his Impala. Allen followed a moment later, looking around curiously.

Dark had already been falling when they'd left the bar, but now it had collapsed over the town like a drunken man, wrapping it in shadow.

Given that Allen didn't do this for a living, Dean wouldn't blame him for being creeped out by the graveyard at night.

He _did, _however, blame him for _not _being creeped out. He was just looking around, unperturbed.

There was something seriously wrong with that kid.

He opened up the trunk of his Impala and pulled out his shovel, hesitated, and then pulled out Sam's, tossing it to Allen as soon as he could, not wanting to look at it.

"Use that," he ordered. "I haven't had time to find her grave yet, but I have a pretty good idea of where it is. You remember her name?"

Allen nodded. Of course he did. Dean was willing to bet he could recite back every word Dean had said.

Because Dean didn't want to contemplate that, he shut the trunk and started to head off down the eerily silent graveyard. "C'mon, kid."

Allen followed.

Silently.

He was going to be damn glad when he could hand this kid back off to his master.

Once they'd reached the approximate area of where Dean thought Felicia's grave was, he nodded to Allen, who seemed to pick up his meaning easily enough, because he split off, barely needing to squint to read the names on each grave as he passed. Dean headed off in a different direction.

For a while, they just read the names on the graves in silence. Finally, Dean found it.

_Felicia Hampton_

_1987-2001_

Dean grinned and straightened up. Sure, Felicia was a good bit younger than most ghosts he'd dealt with, what with most of them being fifty to a hundred or more, but it just meant the residents of this town had caught a break. He'd caught her early.

"Hey, kid!" he called, as loudly as he dared in the silent graveyard. "Found her!"

Allen looked up, clearly visible thanks to his white hair, and nodded with a smile, straightening up from where he'd been reading yet another grave and jogging over to Dean.

"Now for the fun part," Dean told him with a mirthless grin. "Time to dig up the body."

A flicker of a frown _(Finally, _Dean thought) crossed Allen's face, but he nodded _(dammit) _and put the shovel to the dirt only a moment after Dean did, starting to dig into the soil.

Soon after they started to work, Allen broke out of his… trance… thing… and started to talk to Dean, a curious look on his face even though he never looked up.

"Have you been doing this a long time?"

"Since I was a kid," Dean replied without thinking, then caught himself and frowned.

He was going to be _damn _glad to hand this kid off. Really.

"Is it always like this?"

"If it goes well," Dean answered, giving up on sanity. Screw it. No reason not to answer the kid's questions. Probably wouldn't ever see him again – that was how life on the road worked, after all.

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then it all goes to hell, doesn't it?" Dean snorted. "Who the hell knows what happens then? Different every time."

Allen nodded, like he knew _exactly _how that felt, and then asked, "Do you always do it alone?"

That made Dean pause. Allen looked up, silver eyes shining, but for just a moment, the expression on his face-

The eyes were hazel.

Dean shook his head sharply, and replied, shortly, "No."

Allen seemed to sense that he'd hit a sore spot – _damn _glad – and was quiet from then until Dean's shovel hit the solid wood of the coffin. Dean nodded for Allen to climb out of the grave – which, being that the wall was taller than him, he needed help with – and then cleared the dirt away from it while Allen opened up the salt.

He cracked open the coffin, releasing the familiar stink, and stepped aside to look at it for a moment.

Then he turned and climbed out of the grave with the ease of long practice.

"So," he instructed finally, "what you do now is, you dump that canister-" He pointed at the container of salt in Allen's hand. "-into the grave, on the body." He waited while Allen did that. "Then you take that," indicating the lighter fluid, "and dump that in, too."

Allen did.

"And now I burn it?" he questioned. Blithely.

Dean nodded. At least he wasn't the one to blame for scarring the kid for life. Apparently, someone else had gotten there first.

Allen lit a match and dropped it into the grave, face visibly losing its coolness as he watched the body burn.

Dean wasn't quite sure how he could make out enough of a real person in the rotten body to connect with it, but apparently he did, because he started to cry a little, silent and still.

Dean pretended not to notice.

* * *

**And that's another done. I'd actually kind of forgotten I'd posted this... Oops? Anyway. Please review! (It'll help me remember that it exists!)**


	4. Half a Moment

**A/N: This time, I just genuinely didn't have the chapter written. But now I do! *beam***

**Title: One and Another**

**Author: liketolaugh**

**Rating: T**

**Pairings: None**

**Genre: Drama/Mystery**

**Warnings: None**

**Summary: Dean stumbles across a strange child playing poker in a place where he does not belong. Shortly thereafter, the two of them walking together run across something even Dean's never seen before. Things only escalate from there. Stanford Era!Dean and Pre-series!Allen.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Supernatural is not mine. Neither is D. Gray-man.**

* * *

When the body had finished burning, they filled the grave back in, shovelful by shovelful, dark brown dirt cascading onto the broken, burnt-out wreck formerly known as a coffin. Allen thought that the freshly turned dirt looked too obvious, and wanted to scatter some of the fallen leaves over it. Dean assured him that that would be a complete waste of time.

Allen did it anyway.

Dean waited impatiently by his Impala while he did, and, when Allen finally emerged, face slightly smudged and a hint of leaf litter tangled in white hair, he gestured for the kid to brush his (now dirty) hands off before he climbed in.

"Now," Dean informed him, starting to drive again, "we check the house." He tossed back his EMF detector. "Turn that on."

Allen did.

"That's an EMF detector," Dean explained. "Picks up electromagnetic frequencies. If there's a ghost there, that'll tell us, even if it doesn't show itself."

"Where did you learn that?" Allen questioned, turning the EMF detector over in his hands, not looking up to Dean as he did.

"Bobby taught Dad, Dad taught me," Dean answered, before catching himself and huffing. How did the kid _do _that?

"Who's Bobby?"

Now, to give in, or not to give in?

Eh. He was a hunter. His life had turned to insanity when he was four years old and his mom spontaneously combusted whilst pinned to the ceiling. "Bobby Singer. He's a family friend, great researcher. Has the best damn collection of supernatural texts I've ever seen, and knows how to use them."

"Are you close to him?" Allen looked up from the EMF device, silver eyes glinting as he caught Dean's hazel in the mirror.

Dean paused.

"He's a friend of the family," he repeated.

Allen smiled and fell silent, turning his head to look out the window instead, 'hm'ing to himself amiably.

Dean parked just in front of the house and got out, one step away from muttering to himself, frowning at nothing. Allen followed, holding the detector half in front of him, looking around curiously. Never mind that he was about to enter a haunted house, he just wanted to know what it looked like.

The kid was a _freak. _Dean liked it.

"Got the gun?" Dean checked, reaching one hand up to make sure his own was still present. He couldn't _see _the kid's gun, but then, he hadn't been able to see where Allen had put it, either.

Sure enough, Allen nodded.

They entered the house, walking down first one hall, then another, and then into a room. The EMF detector remained silent, and they didn't hear so much as a creak anywhere in the house, eerily silent. Dean then made the mistake of beginning to relax; Dean fullheartedly believed that this had jinxed them.

They entered another room, and the EMF started to whine softly. Dean's hazel eyes shot to it, widening slightly, and then it began to pick up rapidly, soft whine going high and piercing. "Out!" he snapped, head jerking to glare at Allen fiercely.

Allen turned and darted back out without hesitation. Dean ran after him, keeping one eye out for the ghost, hand wandering toward his shotgun.

The temperature dropped and he was there.

He.

The ghost was male.

Allen froze – so he did have a limit – but Dean didn't hesitate, gun out and up in a second.

The ghost snarled animalistically and streaked toward Allen, hands outstretched. Allen took a step back, silver eyes wide. A strangled cry ripped from his mouth, Dean fired, and the ghost vanished.

"C'mon, kid," Dean snapped, all business, grabbing Allen by the wrist and dragging him forward, toward the still-haunted house's exit. Allen kept up easily, looking over his shoulder, uneasy grey eyes sweeping through the hall.

The ghost flashed into existence again and zoomed for Dean. Dean bit out another curse and ducked away, inadvertantly releasing Allen's arm. The ghost flew for him again and Dean brought up his gun, but a gesture from the ghost sent him and the weapon flying in two different directions. Dean ended up slammed into a corner, nowhere to go.

"Mister Dean!"

Allen, silver eyes wide, shadowy in the dark house, drew the borrowed gun without hesitation, took less than a second to aim, and fired at the ghost, which dissipated into the air.

Dean was up again within a few moments, panting, one hand pressing to his ribs with a wince. At least one of them was bruised, fractured if he was unlucky. "Nice shot, kid. Now out!"

They didn't have far to go before they reached the door, and Dean yanked it open, shoving Allen through before pushing out himself. They dove into the Impala and, somewhere in the house, the ghost screamed.

"Not so dead, then," Dean muttered, hastily starting his car and taking off again.

Allen stared at him with wide eyes, panting slightly.

Dean turned around and grinned mirthlessly at Allen. "Looks like we've still got work to do."

* * *

**Eh. Kind of short. But. Not finished yet! There are things still to come! *cackle* Please review!**


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